Asylum
by RoaringMice
Summary: Malcolm resorts to desperate measures when he and Trip are imprisoned on a Xenophobic world.
1. Chapter 1

Warnings: Violence. Graphic injury. Intentional self-harm.

Disclaimer: I don't own it, I make no money, yadda, yadda, yadda.

x-x

NOW

"We missed the rendezvous this morning," Trip said, lifting a wary glance to the guard towers high above them.

Malcolm nodded as he trailed a hand along the wire fence. He well knew that they'd missed their meeting with Enterprise, but he didn't want to belabour the point. He realised that Trip just needed to talk, and he was certainly willing to listen. After all, he didn't have much else to do at the moment.

Squinting against the bright sunlight, he looked through the wire to the tall stone enclosure, about nine metres away. There had to be some way of getting past all that, but if there was, he hadn't yet found it.

His thoughts were interrupted when Trip stopped moving. As the other prisoners walking the path began streaming around them, Trip whispered, "Enterprise should realise that something is wrong."

It was Malcolm's turn to hurriedly glance at the guards, and he yanked on Trip's arm. "Keep walking. We don't want to call attention to ourselves."

Trip frowned when one of the prisoners bumped him. As the man passed, he glanced back at the two of them, his hostility readily apparent.

Trip gave Malcolm an uncomfortable smile. "Any more than we have already."

Malcolm grimaced, and they walked on.

x-x

THEN

The shuttle bay was empty - or at least, Malcolm thought it was empty until he heard a soft series of words being muttered from near one of the shuttlepods.

"Stupid, idiotic..."

Malcolm stepped around the ship and saw Trip lying on his back, his head and shoulders hidden underneath the shuttle. "Trip," he said, trying not to startle the man. When the imprecations stopped but Trip didn't answer him, he gently nudged Trip's foot. Trip pushed himself out from under. Already knowing the answer from the look on Trip's face, Malcolm asked the question anyway. "Everything all right?"

"No, everything is not all right," Trip replied, clearly frustrated. "We need a replacement valve."

"Don't we have -"

"Another replacement valve?" Trip interrupted, emphasising the first word. "We've already used the ones we came with, and the one in Pod One is at death's door. We're about to have two completely useless shuttles." He sat up and, leaning back against the side of the ship, wiped a rag across his dirt-smeared face. "Crap."

"Indeed," Malcolm replied.

Trip raised an eyebrow in response. He pushed himself up and stalked to the wall comm., slapping a palm against its controls. "Captain, can you come down here a minute?"

As Trip spoke to the captain and explained the situation, Malcolm watched his friend. Trip looked...well, Trip had looked better. He was exhausted and grease-smeared. He'd obviously been working on this for a while.

After Trip finished speaking with the captain, he leaned an arm against the wall. Head down, he stood there for a moment.

Malcolm stepped to his side. "Are you all right?"

Trip nodded. "Tired," he said, turning to face Malcolm. "Just tired. I've been working on this thing for hours, trying to cobble something together that might work as a replacement..."

When his voice trailed away, Malcolm added, "Any luck?"

"Creating a valve from gum and bailing wire?" Trip spat, suddenly agitated. "I'm not freekin' MacGuyver."

"Who?" Malcolm asked, surprised at Trip's sudden change of mood.

"Mac - oh, never mind." Trip suddenly looked deflated. "Sorry. I'm - " He stopped suddenly and Malcolm saw that the captain had just come through the door, trailed by T'Pol.

The captain started speaking as soon as he entered the room. "T'Pol has an idea," he said, reaching their side and nodding at his counterpart.

T'Pol turned to Trip. "We're about to pass a planet which the inhabitants of this region call Noitol. Although atmospheric conditions prevent us from monitoring the planet itself, we've been listening to transmissions of the other planets in the region, and we've picked up information about Noitol and its inhabitants. They are quite technologically advanced." She glanced down at the padd in her hand, then back up to Trip. "I suggest we try to obtain appropriate parts."

Malcolm watched as a smile spread across Trip's face. "Sounds great," he said enthusiastically. Then, seeing Archer's expression, he frowned. "So, what's the 'but'?" At T'Pol's look of confusion, Trip continued. "There's obviously a problem, so out with it."

T'Pol's eyebrows flew up to her hairline, but she continued in her normal calm voice. "The people on this planet are technologically advanced; much more so than the other peoples in this area, but..." She cast a pointed glance at Trip. "...they are extremely xenophobic."

Malcolm felt himself tense as Archer spoke. "So going down there is risky, Trip. You'll have to be undercover."

Trip gave a tense nod, then glanced at Malcolm.

Malcolm asked, "Are the other planets not options?"

"Unfortunately not," Archer said, concern creasing his brow. "Their technologies are pretty basic. And you'd said that this valve was pretty complex."

Trip nodded.

Archer continued. "It seems Noitol is our best chance."

When no one spoke, T'Pol said into the silence, "Human physiology appears to be quite like that of the native peoples of this planet."

Malcolm had to interrupt. "Still, it would be safer if I went alone."

Archer nodded in agreement. "Yes it would, but we need Trip there so that he can identify items that might work. We'll keep the landing party small," Archer added. "Just you and Trip."

"Leaving the shuttle down there, unguarded..." Trip said, letting his voice trail away.

"Since we can not be certain of the situation on the planet," T'Pol said, "I suggest that we take you down in a shuttle, dropping you somewhere fairly remote, but close enough to walk to a major settlement. The shuttle would then return to Enterprise."

Archer turned to Malcolm. "Travis can drop you off and come back for you later."

"A couple days at least, Captain," Trip said.

Archer nodded. "Let's talk to Travis about rendezvous point and time."

"We have been able to obtain images of the Noitol," T'Pol added. "So we should be able to outfit you in such a way that you will not be obvious..."

As the conversation continued around him, Malcolm felt himself growing more and more anxious. This could be a dangerous mission. They knew so little about these people, and yet they were expected to somehow blend in with the population. He glanced at Trip, and Trip returned a nervous smile. This plan needed to work, and it was up to him to keep Trip safe.

x-x

Their plan could have worked, too...


	2. Chapter 2

Their plan could have worked, too, Malcolm thought as they walked down a shaded passageway, stone buildings standing close on both sides. T'Pol had been right - the physiology of the people here was quite like that of humans. They could have blended in but for one thing - all of the locals stood under five foot seven. Malcolm, alone, probably would have been fine, but he'd quickly realised that Trip's height stood him head and shoulders - often literally - above the rest. So since their arrival earlier, they'd been trying to stick to the shadows, staying in the less populous parts of town until they could locate an appropriate resource and find the parts they needed. But things were looking up. They were now heading towards one place that had sounded, in the conversation Malcolm had with one of the locals, like a possible source. 

Malcolm heard loud voices and a group of men entered the passage, laughing and joking as they walked. He glanced at Trip, who had shrunk back behind him, slouching as if that would make a difference. Malcolm continued walking towards the men, all the while scanning the passage for a means of escape or defence, if needed.

As the group passed, one of the men nodded to Malcolm before he noticed Trip. He stopped in surprise, and his friends, not paying attention, almost crashed into his back. Malcolm watched the man's face turn stormy as he stared at Trip.

"You are not allowed here," he said, biting out each word. "You know that Dufor is off-limits to people of your 'kind'," he added, twisting the last word into something ugly.

Malcolm started in surprise. T'Pol had said "Xenophobic," and they'd known to be cautious, but -

Before Malcolm could say a word or even move, he found himself on his back in the narrow space, men swarming around him as they reached for Trip. He scrambled up and onto his knees. He reached for his weapon, but froze when a bright white light and an excruciatingly loud noise filled the space. He looked up, following the gazes of the men around him, and saw a large object float over the alley. The noise got louder, filling his senses, and he fell to the ground before he realised that he was falling.

Knowing that time was short - this was most likely some sort of enforcement device - he squinted against the brightness and looked for a place where he could hide his communicator and weapon. There was a space carved in the ground in front of one of the windows, so he tossed them in there. He saw Trip's devices follow his own, and he pushed some debris and trash into the small space to cover them just as his world turned white, then black.

x-x

NOW

Malcolm looked up from his own meal to see Trip push his tray away, food uneaten. Trip started playing with his food, using a utensil to trace swirling patterns in the grey mush.

Ignoring the prisoners seated all around them, Malcolm leaned forward. "Are you all right?" He noticed the prisoner next to Trip glance quickly at him, then away. There was no bloody privacy in this damned place.

"Trip?" he said, dropping his voice. "Are you all right?"

Trip finally looked at him, and Malcolm didn't like what he saw. Trip looked more than a bit anxious, his new-found pallor highlighting his latest bruise, this one on his cheekbone.

"We've been in here for three days," Trip said.

Malcolm knew that there was a whole world of meaning in those few words. Since his arrival in Jesem prison, Trip had been the target of a group of inmates lead by a rabid xenophobe named Hemsej. And since their schedules didn't match, Malcolm had been powerless to help Trip defend himself.

Hell, at this point, when Trip showed up at a meal with a new bruise or cut, Malcolm didn't even ask what had happened. He knew what had happened. Hemsej.

Malcolm kept his voice pitched low, hoping that only Trip could hear it over the buzz of the conversations around them. "It's unlikely that Enterprise will be able to find us."

Trip nodded sharply. "I know that. Their scanners won't work here, and it's not like they can contact the local government."

Malcolm pushed his own tray aside. "So they'll probably send a team down. In fact, they probably already have done. Likely there is someone monitoring our rendezvous point."

Trip's expression changed from despair to hope. "So if we can get out..."

"If," Malcolm replied, emphasising the word.

"We could go to the rendezvous point and - "

Malcolm leaned forward, interrupting. "Or not even that far. We just need to get to where we were taken."

"Dufor."

"Dufor," Malcolm echoed.

Trip glanced at the guards stationed at the large room's only door. "The guards have communications devices that are obviously working in here, so I figure the disturbance prevents long-distance comm. only. If we can get to our communicators, we may have enough range to reach whoever's at the rendezvous." Trip frowned. "But they won't wait there forever."

Malcolm's eyes shot up as Hemsej passed close behind Trip. Trip cringed as the man brushed his shoulder, but he spat a quiet "Don't!" when Malcolm began to stand.

Their eyes met, and Malcolm said, "We need to go soon."

x-x

THEN

Malcolm paced the length of his small cell. Five strides to get from one clear wall to the next, then a turn, and five strides back. Facing out into the cellblock, he stared at the place where the door, now invisible, had opened to let him enter. He stretched his arms to both sides. A bit less than two metres wide, then. Not particularly big, but not the smallest room he'd ever been assigned. And with only one bunk, apparently he'd have no cellmate. He took in the smell of antiseptic. At least it was clean. "Small favours," he murmured.

He pushed his palms against the clear material that formed the walls and pressed. It was strong, whatever it was. Some sort of polymer.

He spun and slumped onto the bunk, its hard surface cushioned only by the blanket he'd been given during processing. Lying on his back, he stared at a series of white pipes snaking above him, letting his eyes trail along their length.

Hoping for escape, he thought. Or at least hoping for something to keep him mind off of Trip, who he hadn't seen since sentencing. Something to keep his mind off the fact that his neighbours could see his every activity through the clear walls. Luckily, only one of the adjoining cells seemed to be occupied, and that man...Malcolm turned his head slowly in that direction, trying not to call attention to the movement...that man appeared to be sleeping. He could just make out the man standing in the cell beyond that one - the walls appeared to have some sort of obscuring effect, so he could only see so far down the cellblock. He was about to look away when the man rushed to the front of his cell and started shouting obscenities. The cell went completely dark, its walls becoming an opaque black in a flash as a group of guards approached and entered, the man's shouts cutting off in mid-curse.

Great, fabulous. Not only did the cells seem impossible to break out of, they could also function as isolation units.

Malcolm turned his face back to the ceiling and thought about what he'd learned about Noitol, trying to find a way out of all this.

Once they'd been arrested, he and Trip had quickly learned that all sorts of differences were considered taboo here. Noitol did have people who were "different" - the rare person, like Trip, was taller, for example, or in other ways beyond the norm, physically, but the movements of such people were carefully controlled. And not only had they been involved in a "civil incident", as the judge had decreed, but people who were "different" were not allowed into that part of the city. So, despite their protestations, they were blamed for the incident and sentenced: Malcolm for six months, and Trip, probably due to his "difference", for a year.

Malcolm was at least grateful that they'd managed to hide their communicators. If they could get back to the city and find that alley, they might be able to figure out a way to contact Enterprise. He just needed a plan.

Malcolm woke sometime later to the sounds of movement outside his cell. Squinting against the brightness, he sat in a rush when he realised what was going on.

It was Trip. Malcolm felt a weight come off his shoulders, and he couldn't help but smile as Trip was lead into the cell next to his. When the guards left, sealing the door behind them, Malcolm stepped to the clear wall dividing their cells. His smile fell away when Trip looked at him, and he placed a palm flat against the barrier. "What happened?"

Eyes guarded, Trip lifted a tentative hand to his forehead, covering the bruise there. Then he shrugged. "I met some of the other inmates."

The next day Malcolm met those inmates as well.

x-x

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	3. Chapter 3

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x-x

Malcolm entered the yard cautiously, standing to the side of the door as he let other prisoners pass him. He leaned against the wall and let his vision adjust to the sudden brightness, his eyes roaming the wide, dusty courtyard. There were people gathered in various groups around the sun-baked space, while the guards were hidden in their towers high above them.

Malcolm noticed a commotion nearby, and he heard a shout. He started a slow walk towards the group, breaking into a run when he realised that it was Trip, and a group of prisoners had him surrounded. When one stocky, dark-haired man raised a fist to punch, Malcolm grabbed his arm and spun him around before he found himself on his back on the ground.

He blinked up at the man, surprised. These men were stronger than humans. The man that he'd grabbed gave him a twisted smile and waved his cronies off.

As they walked away, Trip reached down and gave Malcolm a hand up. "That was Hemsej", Trip said, frowning.

At least they'd backed off for now, although Malcolm knew that it wouldn't last.

x-x

Trip wasn't in his cell when Malcolm returned from his work shift in the mess. It wasn't until he woke in the morning that he realised that Trip must have returned in the night.

As the prison came awake around them, Trip sat up on his bunk and turned to face Malcolm, revealing a new bruise.

"You all right?" Malcolm asked.

Trip nodded. "Yeah. Nothing broken." He flashed a hard grin. "Apparently my height's not a hit with the guards, either."

x-x

Trip pulled Malcolm aside in the busy courtyard. "You'd probably do better if you stayed away from me," Trip said, looking pointedly at the cuts on Malcolm's hand.

Malcolm gingerly covered his right hand with his left. In the days since his first encounter with Hemsej, he'd managed to make himself almost as much of a target as Trip was, simply through his friendship with Trip. "I'm not going to leave you to fend for yourself against those thugs," Malcolm said, looking at where Hemsej and his counterparts were gathered.

"Malcolm -"

"Don't ask me to," Malcolm said, his voice sharp.

"It's not your job -"

"Don't tell me what is and isn't my job, Commander," Malcolm said heatedly. "This has nothing to do with my job."

Trip blinked rapidly. Then his lip twitched, and he smothered a smile.

Malcolm felt his anger leave him, and he returned Trip's almost-smile. "We may not be here for much longer, anyway." At Trip's surprised look, he continued. "Our way out is through there," Malcolm said, pointing at a low stone building. He began walking, trying to keep with the flow of prisoners mulling about the yard.

"The psych ward?" Trip replied, stopping to stare at the door before hurrying to catch up with Malcolm.

"Yeah," Malcolm replied, thinking back over the observations he'd made over the past few days. "From what I've been able to tell, it seems to be their least defended point, with the most outside access." He glanced at Trip as they walked the perimeter of the yard. "If we can get out from anywhere, it will be there."

"Okay, I'll bite," Trip said with a frown. "Say that is our only way out. How, exactly, do we get in?"

"We don't." Malcolm stopped walking, and he faced Trip squarely. "I do."

x-x

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	4. Chapter 4

_Thank you for all your comments and reviews. Based on suggestions, I've just allowed anonymous reviews. _

x-x

"This is a really bad idea," Trip said, keeping pace with Malcolm as he walked the perimeter of the exercise yard. Trip jerked on his arm, stopping his movement, and glanced to the guard towers above them. "They're too damn smart. And they're always watching." He nodded toward the camera hovering over the yard. "There are monitors everywhere. There's no way that you can sneak away and get in there without them knowing that you're gone."

"We have to find a way." Malcolm crossed his arms over his chest. He stared at the door of the asylum. "There has to be a way in there."

Trip took a step forward, closing the space between them. "At least let me go with you."

Malcolm shook his head. "Two of us would really be pushing it. One of us, alone, at least has a chance. And it must be me." At Trip's disbelieving expression, he explained. "Afterwards I'll need to be able to sneak to town, probably by hitching a ride, and so I'll have to blend as much as possible." He looked up at the taller man. "I never thought my lack of height would ever be an advantage, but there you have it, Trip."

Trip looked resigned. "In town...you remember where we tossed our communicators?"

Malcolm smiled in answer.

Trip turned to look at the asylum door. "So, how?"

x-x

Malcolm squatted behind the counter in the mess, placing stacks of clean dishes where the servers could grab them. As he stood, he scanned the crowd for Trip, finding him at a table with other prisoners. Although conversation buzzed around him, Trip remained isolated. No one spoke to him, or even met his eyes.

Malcolm returned to the dish room to get another stack of plates. By the time he returned to the main section of the mess, Trip was already leaving. Malcolm watched as Hemsej and his group stood and followed Trip. When Hemsej passed the guard at the door, the guard gave him a brief nod.

Malcolm's heart skipped a beat, and he muttered a soft swear as he jumped the counter and tried to follow. He heard the guard say something as he rushed by, and then felt himself lifted bodily and slammed to the ground, the guard standing threateningly above him.

Malcolm scrambled to sitting. "Those men" was all he was able to get out before the guard hit him with a shock stick.

x-x

When Malcolm next woke he was lying on his bunk, his entire body singing from the force of the shock he'd received earlier. With a groan, he rolled himself onto his side, blinking rapidly in an attempt to clear his vision as he tried to see into Trip's cell.

He heard Trip's soft voice. "Malcolm?"

Malcolm rubbed a shaking hand across his eyes, then shut them in frustration. That was actually better, so he kept his eyes closed for a moment, trying to get his bearings.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah," he whispered, his voice raspy. Taking a slow and careful breath, he opened his eyes again. Still blurry, but a bit better, he could just make out Trip sitting on his bunk in the adjoining cell. He blinked again and his vision came clearer, revealing Trip there, his face mottled with fresh bruises.

"I'm so sorry," Malcolm said after a long moment.

"For what?"

Malcolm indicated Trip's injuries with a wave of his arm. "Some security officer."

"This is not your fault," Trip said, leaning towards the wall that separated them.

"My fault," Malcolm said, stumbling over the words. "I'm supposed to be able to defend you, and all I can do here..." He dropped his voice to a whisper. "All I can do is stand by and watch while you get the crap beaten out of you. My responsibility, and I can't - " He cut himself off, shaking his head and closing his eyes.

x-x

From there Malcolm could only watch as Trip's beatings escalated. Although Malcolm would catch derisive comments from the guards being directed at Trip, and the occasional look or nudge from a prisoner, Hemsej and his cronies were now only threatening Trip out of Malcolm's view. Worse, it seemed that Malcolm's suspicion that they'd enlisted some of the guards to their cause was true, because despite the constant presence of guards and the many monitors about the prison, it seemed there was no place where Trip was safe.

Malcolm knew that it was only a matter of time before Hemsej or a guard injured Trip in such a way that the damage would be permanent.

Malcolm had lost track of the days, but he know that they'd only been there a short time. There was no way that Trip would be able to survive his entire sentence.

Malcolm had to act, and he had to act soon.

x-x

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	5. Chapter 5

_Thank you for your comments and reviews. I love hearing what you think!_

_I know the chapters are sometimes a bit short, so I'm trying to make up for that with frequent updates. _

_Note: I'm giving squick alert #1 now, due to some of the content in this chapter. There's some ouch, but it's not too bad._

x-x

Malcolm paced the small space, casting anxious glances at Trip's empty cell as he counted one two three four five steps to one wall, one two three four five steps to the other, one two three...

Malcolm spun in place and sat, hard, on the edge of his bunk. He was driving himself to distraction, he knew he was, but Trip should have been back hours before.

He stood in a rush when he saw two guards pass in front of his cell, dragging Trip between them. He watched, keeping silent vigil as one guard triggered Trip's door, then they both tossed him inside as if he were so much rubbish.

Trip lay on the floor a moment before he rolled onto his side, one hand over his ribs. He used his free arm to bring himself to sitting, then leaned back against his bunk, eyes closed.

"Trip?" Malcolm finally asked, still standing in the centre of his cell as if frozen in place. When Trip cracked his eyes open in response, Malcolm, already knowing the answer, asked, "What happened?"

"Hemsej," Trip said, and his eyes slid closed again.

After a moment, Malcolm asked, "Trip?" When Trip didn't respond - didn't even stir, Malcolm repeated his name again, a slightly frantic edge to his tone. Then a third time, "Trip?" again to no response.

He was about to shout when he heard the man let out a loud snore.

Malcolm felt a manic laugh bubbling up. God, he'd thought, he'd been afraid that Trip was, that they'd finally...but he was sleeping, and...

Malcolm found himself sitting on the floor and laughing hysterically.

He shook his head, trying to gain control. He had to get a hold of himself before this situation did him in. He closed his eyes and, between giggles, began to even out his breathing. Eventually he calmed and opened his eyes again.

He watched Trip sleep. There was a new bruise blossoming across his cheek, and even in sleep, Trip was keeping one arm tightly wrapped against his ribs. Probably broken, the ribs, and Malcolm wouldn't be surprised if the cheekbone was also broken. Malcolm felt a laugh edging up, but he tamped it down. It seemed Trip couldn't take a piss without being beaten.

Things were getting desperate. The asylum still seemed to be their only option, but Malcolm had yet to find a way into the building.

Malcolm stood and started pacing again. He stopped when he reached the clear wall that separated him from Trip's cell, and he placed one palm flat against the surface, watching his friend sleep. "I'm sorry," he murmured. He'd been all but useless to Trip.

There had to be a way. Trip was right - he couldn't just walk into the psych ward. He was constantly monitored.

Well, not really. He knew that the guards weren't always looking, but one never could tell when they were. So he needed to find a way to get in there officially. Maybe he could get himself assigned to a work detail. No, he was already on the mess, and he'd have no control over where he was transferred.

He turned and paced the cell in frustration. He'd already been through all this! There had to be something that he could do to get in there, something that he wasn't seeing. He needed to find something almost guaranteed to get him in there -

Malcolm went to the front of his cell and shouted for the guard. He glanced at Trip, and saw that Trip's eyes were now open as he stared, confused by the commotion that Malcolm was making. "Guard!" he yelled again, turning away from Trip.

When the guard finally came, Malcolm pointed at Trip. "Help him!" he began, then continued shouting until the guards opened his cell and pushed him down onto his bunk. When one guard raised his shock stick, Malcolm scuttled back on the bed, heart beating madly. When he hit the wall, he raised his hands, palms out, and the guards backed off.

After they'd left, Malcolm sat there on his bunk, head down and breathing rapidly. He knew that Trip was staring at him, probably desperate for contact, but he kept his head down.

"Malcolm?"

Malcolm stood, turned away from Trip, and started pacing again. He heard Trip calling to him softly, trying to get his attention, but he refused to look at Trip. He couldn't do this if he looked at Trip.

He slumped onto the bed, staring down at his hands. He hated that he was in this situation. He hated that he was forced to leave Trip defenceless against both the guards and Hemsej's gang. He hated feeling so bloody useless. It was time that he did something. It was time. Because if he was unable to find a way out of here, to get Trip out of here, then it would be -

He turned his back on Trip and faced the wall. "My fault," he said, his voice just above a whisper. He punched the wall, hard, and hissed against the explosion of pain. "My fault," he repeated, and he punched the wall again. Then again, and his hand started to bleed. Again, and he left a smear of blood on the clear surface. Again, and he heard activity behind him, shouts and what he assumed was Trip pounding on the wall between them. He punched again, and his cell went dark, and the guards came in, and he shouted, and he struggled.

He felt a pinch and then nothing.

x-x

Malcolm realised that he was sitting on the floor, his back to his bunk. He was holding his wrist, his bloody hand away from him. He closed his eyes.

x-x

Malcolm opened his eyes and stared down at his hand. A bloody mess. But it didn't hurt. Odd. Maybe they'd given him something. He couldn't feel.

He was rocking. He couldn't seem to stop, but that was all right. It felt all right. He blinked languidly, and when he opened his eyes, his hand had been cleaned and neatly bandaged, but it hurt. Damn. Now he could feel, but he half-wished that he couldn't.

He raised his head and caught sight of Trip, who was sitting right next to the wall.

Trip put a hand up to its clear surface and touched it gently, his face in anguish. "You okay?"

Malcolm stared at him for a moment, then said, "I'm sorry." It was his fault, all of this, he couldn't protect Trip, and even this hadn't worked as he'd hoped. He rubbed his eyes with his good hand, his movements slow and deliberate. It took all his focus simply to do that much, and his gaze followed the path of his hand as it settled in his lap. His prison uniform was starting to fray at the sleeves, and he stared at the threads.

x-x

_Please let me know what you think so far. _


	6. Chapter 6

_Thank you for your reviews and comments. It brightens my day whenever I get one of these._

_Squick warning #2. This is some pretty serious ouch._

x-x

Malcolm woke to the general call, still sitting beside his bunk. He stood, feeling unsteady but better. Whatever they'd given him, it must have passed through his system. Still, he felt edgy and brittle, all jagged edges and sharp points.

He noticed that Trip wasn't in his cell, but that was normal - the start times of their work shifts didn't usually coincide. He made himself ready for the day, each task seeming to take longer than normal. He looked down at his hands and realised that they were shaking. He clenched them into two tight fists, and that was better.

Okay, maybe the drug hadn't entirely finished with him.

A guard came with the rest of the crew, and Malcolm joined them as they headed for the mess.

Malcolm felt someone brush his shoulder as he went by one passageway, and he turned his head. Hemsej, it was Hemsej there, smiling that smug...the bloody bastard...and before he even realised what he was doing, Malcolm had turned and started pummelling the man. Hearing shouts and whistles, he felt himself being pulled away.

He saw a prisoner that he didn't recognise on the floor, bleeding, appearing somewhat stunned. Confused, he felt a touch to his neck, a pinch, and he collapsed.

x-x

Malcolm was curled up on his side in bed, facing the wall. He was unsure of how much time had passed, but he knew that...no, actually, he had no idea.

He could tell that he'd been drugged again, but he found that he didn't particularly care. After a moment, he noticed that blood was oozing through the bandages around his injured hand. He lifted his hand and ground it against the wall, but he felt nothing, so he gave up.

He sat slowly, using his uninjured hand for leverage as he turned to face Trip's cell.

Trip obviously noticed the movement, because he stood and came to the wall. Placing one palm flat against its surface, he asked, "What's wrong?"

Malcolm nodded, then shook his head. Nothing was wrong, and everything, and he wasn't at all sure, except that he needed to do something. This couldn't go on.

"Something's wrong, Malcolm. They say you beat up some guy. Maybe the drugs, or..."

Malcolm frowned and stared down at his frayed sleeve again. Time, time. It was time, and he didn't have much time.

Malcolm struggled to take off his shirt with one good hand. Finally removing it, he bit the hem and pulled with his good hand. After a moment, the shirt tore. Again and again he repeated the process until the fabric lay in strips before him.

He could hear Trip asking what he was doing, but he ignored it, turning his back to the man and shielding his work with his body. He wasn't sure he could go through with this if he saw Trip, saw what this was doing to him, so Malcolm kept his eyes to his task.

He began tying the strips together - thank God for boyscouts and long-ago knot tying competitions with friends, because even with one semi-useless hand, he could still get this done.

Malcolm sat back and evaluated his work. It should be about long enough.

He stood on the bunk, wobbling a bit. Trembling, he felt unsteady both inside and out. Once he got his balance he looked above him, squinting against the brightness of the overhead lights. The pipes were there just as he'd remembered them. He swung the fabric rope up over one pipe.

He heard pounding and shouting from the cell beside him.

He had to use both hands, wincing as he tried totie the knots, but he got it done.

The noise from next door got louder but he ignored it, focused instead on what he was about to do. He had to do this very carefully for it to work.

Malcolm slid the noose over his head and settled it around his neck. Glancing up at Trip, he gave an apologetic smile as his friend fell silent. The man looked stunned.

Malcolm held his breath, said a soft prayer, and stepped off the bed.

x-x


	7. Chapter 7

_I didn't want to leave you hanging until after the weekend, so I'm posting another chapter now._

_Please review and let me know what you think about this so far._

x-x

Infirmary. He was in the infirmary, he could tell this from the soft conversations around him, half caught whispers of injuries and illnesses. Malcolm opened his eyes a crack, only to close them immediately against the brightness. Everything lately was too bright and brittle, and God, he was too. He felt... Drugged for sure, he could tell that much. And he felt like complete and total pants - everything ached. He tried to move and a wave of dizziness almost took him, so he stilled. He was strapped down and had some sort of collar immobilising his neck.

This had been a spectacularly bad idea.

He could have killed himself. He'd taken a calculated risk, which easily could have become a suicidal one. He'd been banking on the fact that they'd probably be watching, or at least would have checked on his cell due to Trip's shouting. He'd been relying on the idea that they'd get him down quickly.

Malcolm heard people talking nearby, and he become conscious of the fact that they were talking about him. Something about his hand, and how that should have signalled...he missed the rest, then caught "...incident in the hallway..." He heard someone say something about an evaluation, and someone else mentioned the psych ward.

It had been a spectacularly bad idea, but it had worked. He let himself sleep.

x-x

Malcolm placed both hands along the rim of the sink and stared at himself in the mirror above it. This was the first time since he'd entered prison - who knows how long, maybe weeks, now - but this was the first time he'd seen his reflection. The man looking back at him looked familiar, but...Malcolm ran a gentle finger along the bruises, a livid band around his neck. Ligature marks, and under his eyes more bruises where he'd broken blood vessels, and red marks across his cheeks. Finally, he met his own eyes, red rimmed and still slightly too bright.

A surge of anger hit and he lifted a fist in a sudden rush. Then, slowing his movements, he pushed his fist towards the mirror. He stopped the motion just before he hit the glass, instead placing his palm against the smooth, cool surface. He lowered his hand back to the edge of the basin, and let his head hang down.

His emotions had been off lately. Perhaps it was the drugs, or something else, but he felt wrong, somehow. But at least he was in the asylum.

He'd left Trip back there. Perhaps worse, he'd let him think...but he couldn't do this if Trip knew. It was his job as a security officer, and his responsibility as a friend, to protect Trip. He knew that the guards would probably question Trip, so he couldn't know the truth. He could suspect it - he a smart man - but not know for certain. Trip was good at a lot of things, but lying wasn't one of them.

But it wasn't just that. It wasn't just protecting him from the guards. It was also protecting him from all this.

Malcolm's head flashed up and he stared into his own eyes. The glass cracked in front of him, pulling his image into shards.

In surprise, he saw his own hand at the impact point, his eyes reflected around it hundreds of times and staring back at him. He pulled away in shock just as the orderlies came rushing in.

x-x

Malcolm sat at a table in the common room, ignoring the conversations flowing around him.

He was trying not to talk. His throat hurt too much, although the docs had said there would be no permanent damage. And his voice wasn't quite his own right now.

It was better to speak as little as possible anyway, as that made it easier to keep up the persona and give less away. He'd been here, in the asylum, for a few days, maybe. He wasn't quite sure of how long. He'd lost track when he'd spent the first days coming down off whatever meds they'd initially dosed him with. Today was the first day that he'd felt clear of the worst of their effects, and even now he wasn't sure he was actually feeling normal. He pushed those thoughts aside and instead focused on the business at hand.

Speaking of "hand", he thought as a smile crept over his face. He looked down at his injured hand, newly bandaged after the incident with the mirror. He still wasn't sure what, actually, had happened that day. He laughed aloud, and one of the patients across the room stared at him. Malcolm looked away.

First day clear enough, anyway. He'd spent it observing the movements and schedules of the techs, doctors, orderlies and other patients; the deliveries of medical supplies and food; slowly trying to piece together the patterns. He hadn't had the freedom to explore yet, as he was still under fairly constant observation. Still, he was allowed out of his room and into this common room, and to and from the doctor's offices, so he was starting to get a fairly clear picture of the layout. As he'd suspected, patients here were allowed significantly more freedom of movement than the prisoners in the general population. He was certain that he could use that to his advantage.

But whatever he decided to do, he knew that he needed to get it done quickly. There was a doctor...

In fact, he'd just come from that doctor's office. He could already tell that she was going to be a problem. She seemed just a bit too observant, and she was asking all the right questions. Malcolm was playing up the "not speaking" thing, so it was easy enough right now not to answer, but that probably wouldn't last forever. That, plus the fact that Trip was alone in prison, and Enterprise wouldn't wait forever...God, they could be gone now. What were the odds on Enterprise still being there?

He shook his head, trying to eliminate his mental doubts with the physical motion. He couldn't think that they were gone. He couldn't...he just...Malcolm felt the anxiety building so he stood, his chair falling in a clatter as he pushed away from the table. Then the eyes of everyone in the room were on him, and that was worse, so he turned away. There had to be somewhere...his eyes searched the room, desperate for escape, for peace, for a place where he could be alone to think. He could feel his breath heavy in his chest and he cradled his injured hand as he started to move toward the far door.

He felt a hand on his arm and he pulled away violently. An orderly, it was one of the orderlies and then there were more of them. He cringed as he felt their hands on him but he just, just managed to restrain himself from striking out as they lead him out of the room, a man at each elbow. He could feel the eyes of the other prisoners on him as he left.

Malcolm tried to gain control of his breathing. He needed to focus on getting away from here, and quickly. If Enterprise was there or wasn't there didn't matter. He could figure out what to do next once they got to that point.

The orderlies lead him to his room. One had him sit on the bed while the other paged the doctors, one wary eye constantly on Malcolm. Malcolm sat there, trying to look calm, but he knew that his efforts were probably failing. He could feel the trembling, his hands shaking, and he knew that he wasn't quite himself. This wasn't him.

A doctor entered the room, and Malcolm instantly recognised the injection device that he was carrying. "No," Malcolm tried to say, but his voice failed him. He tried to back away, but the orderlies were beside him again, and then he felt the sting as the medication was injected into his upper arm.

Malcolm froze there for a moment. It was as if he could feel the drug snaking through his system, leaving oily traces wherever it touched. That was...that was really nice, actually. He let his head loll back and stared up at the ceiling. Each tile had such an interesting pattern. Why hadn't he ever noticed that before?

x-x


	8. Chapter 8

x-x

Malcolm pushed himself up from the bed and stumbled to the door. He pulled the handle, but as he'd suspected, the door was locked. Exhausted and unsteady, he leaned back against the door, letting himself slide down its surface until he came to rest on the floor.

He'd been moved to a "quiet room" because, to quote the doctors, he was "actively unsafe." This room contained a bed, and that was about it. There was a bathroom, but there was no door on it.

The orderly who'd locked him into the room had explained that he was being kept away from the rest of the population; whether for their protection or his had been left unsaid. Malcolm had been left with nothing that he could use to harm himself - they'd even taken his shoes. He looked up at the monitoring camera. He was also being kept under near-constant watch. Perhaps this wasn't going to be as simple as he'd hoped.

There was something wrong with him, and it was interfering with his ability to do what he needed to do. Maybe it was the drugs. His body had never reacted well to chemical restraints. Or maybe it wasn't the drugs at all. He shook his head. The cause didn't matter. What mattered was that he needed to get past it, to focus. He was in the asylum. Now all he needed to do was to find his way out. 

Hearing rustling at the door, Malcolm slid out of the way just as the lock clicked and the door swung in, clipping him on the heel as it opened. He looked up at the orderly standing in the doorframe, meal tray in hand.

The man nodded to Malcolm as if it wasn't at all unusual to find a patient sitting on the floor, then placed the tray on the table beside the door. He held out the usual cups, one of meds and one of water, which Malcolm accepted like a good little boy. He quickly knocked the pills back without even looking at them, followed with the water. There was the usual routine afterwards, showing that the pills had gone. As the man left, Malcolm reached up to the table and tore a piece off the paper napkin. Shielding the action with his body, he slipped it into the lock. He hoped...and when the door settled into place with no "click", he smiled. He tugged the paper out of the lock, glanced up at the monitoring camera, then went to wash his hands in the small bathroom.

Malcolm kept his eyes on his task, trying not to look up to where the mirror had been. Wait, no. No. That was his other room. Not this one. He was confusing things. There was no mirror in this room. They didn't install them in the quiet rooms, probably for fear of what the patients might do with them. Still, he kept his eyes averted.

Just as well there was no mirror; he didn't want to see what he'd become. 

He walked to the table, feeling steadier with each step. Looking down at the tray, he noticed that they'd given him only finger foods. There were no utensils, just a paper plate, the paper napkin, and the tray itself, which looked nigh unbreakable. Popping a vegetable into his mouth, he remembered Trip's "MacGyver" reference back on Enterprise. Trip had later explained just who this MacGyver fellow was, and how he was able to get himself out of any situation by engineering devices from the objects around him.

He wondered if MacGyver, in this same situation, could invent a method of escape involving one indestructible tray, one paper plate and one paper napkin. Maybe if Malcolm expanded his definition of "escape"? Since he was on suicide watch anyway, Malcolm toyed with the idea of trying something, just to see how quickly the staff could react. Maybe a quick paper cut to the wrist? He smiled. How about using the napkin to strangle himself? No, those were foolish ideas, but...he stared down at the items on the tray, suddenly serious. Maybe he could choke? But he put that idea aside because no, he needed to be a good boy.

Eventually the orderly came back to collect the tray. And Malcolm had to admit the man knew his job, because the first thing he did was check each item on the tray. When he noticed that a piece had been torn from the napkin, he looked at Malcolm.

Heart sinking, Malcolm removed the piece from his palm and handed it over. So much for being a good boy.

At this rate, he'd never get out of here.

x-x

The next morning Malcolm was allowed out of the quiet room for his therapy sessions. The first one was with the doctor herself, which they spent in their usual pattern: she'd ask a question, he'd ignore her, and on from there. Now he was in a group session in the common room, sitting in one of the chairs that had been placed in a circle. Malcolm refused to speak, so he just let the talk flow around him as he thought of Trip. The poor man would probably need therapy himself after what he'd been through here. Malcolm's stomach clenched and he could feel his heart pounding at the truth of what he'd just thought.

After what Trip had seen, first with Malcolm's hand, and then with the...Malcolm hesitated, not wanting to put a name to what he'd done. Trip had watched, unable to do anything, and who knows what he'd seen when they pulled Malcolm down. He just hoped to God that someone had told Trip that he'd survived.

He pulled his legs up onto the chair, wrapping his arms around his knees. It was bad enough, what Hemsej and his thugs were doing to Trip, but the idea of what Malcolm had done to him - the idea that Malcolm had done that to his friend.

He suddenly realised that the doctor was calling his name, and Malcolm made eye contact before he could stop himself. He felt the eyes of everyone on him, as if they could see right through to the real him, like they knew what he was thinking.

The doctor obviously could read some of what Malcolm was feeling, because she leaned forward in her chair and asked, "Are you all right?"

Malcolm could only shake his head no. Because he wasn't. He wasn't all right. He wasn't all right, and he didn't know why he wasn't. Something was wrong with him, but he couldn't waste time on that, because he needed to get out of there. If he didn't get out of there, he and Trip would be stuck, and Enterprise would leave, and if they survived their sentences...Malcolm heard laughter and realised it was his own, and that he was laughing because he'd been so worried about Trip making it through all this, but now he'd be surprised if he made it through himself.

"Malcolm?"

Malcolm looked up and met the doctor's eyes.

"The others were talking about why they'd tried killing themselves."

Malcolm felt his hand come up around his neck, covering ligature marks that he was certain had faded. Still, they felt like a permanent part of him now. He looked around at the others in the circle, realising that this was the first time that he'd really looked at them. There weren't that many there, fewer than ten. He supposed that it was sort of an exclusive club, suicides. He tried to see if they, like him, showed any evidence of their attempts.

The doctor spoke again, and his eyes flashed back to hers. "Why, Malcolm?"

And Malcolm heard himself say, "It was time." He was only able to stop himself from saying more by violently pushing his fingernails into the skin of his arm.

The doctor's eyes moved to his arm and back to his eyes. She nodded, then turned to the person sitting next to him.

Malcolm knew that he was in trouble. He'd just given her the opening that she'd been looking for. He was sunk. He needed to get out, and he needed to do it tonight.

x-x 


	9. Chapter 9

_Thank you for your comments and reviews. Here is the next chapter._

_The end is drawing closer. Just a couple more chapters to go. _

x-x

"New meds," the orderly said, holding out the cup of pills. "And a new privilege." When Malcolm didn't answer, the man continued anyway. "Doc said that we can unlock the door. If you do well with that, we'll move you back to your old room."

From where he was lying on the bed, Malcolm looked over at the man. He'd been trying to think of a way out of this mess, and he thought he might have found one. The unlocked door would give him the chance he needed, but he probably wouldn't be clear enough to escape if they changed his medications again.

He sat up on the bed and held out his hands for the cup. Popping the pills into his mouth, he hid them in his cheeks while he accepted the cup of water. Making a show of swallowing, he handed the cups back to the orderly.

The orderly simply watched him expectantly.

When Malcolm didn't respond, the orderly frowned. "You can either swallow those on your own, or I can make you swallow them."

So Malcolm swallowed.

x-x

Malcolm floated across the ice, the flow of his blades cutting patterns into its white surface as he skated...

Malcolm's head jerked up and he squinted against the brightness of the room around him. He was trying to stay awake, but he was so bloody tired. It was the medications, it had to be. He'd tried pacing when he first realised that they were affecting him, but within about a half hour of taking the pills, he'd had to sit down. Since then, he'd been there on the bed, his back against the wall as he struggled to stay alert.

Malcolm felt the breeze on his face as he moved, the cold, damp air of the ice rink cooling his sweaty skin...

He woke suddenly, his heart racing, his clothing soaked in sweat. The room had gone dim around him. Night, it was night. He was losing time. He had to go now. He slid to the edge of the bed and stood, taking a quick step to catch his balance when he almost fell. Trouble, he was in trouble and he knew it, but this was his shot. The doctor had made him crack, and even now he could feel the buried words forcing their way up, wanting to come out. And it had been who knows how long since he'd left Enterprise, who knows how long since he'd left Trip in that prison.

He had to go now.

Stumbling to the door, he slammed a hand against its frame, trying to steady himself. He forced himself to breathe slowly and carefully.

Opening the door a crack, he peered into the hallway. At one end of the corridor was the monitoring station, but the two orderlies standing there were talking to each other and pointing at some sort of paper that they were reading. When they both turned their backs to him, he started a mad shuffle down the hall in the opposite direction, holding the wall for support. Shaking with the effort, he opened the door to the common room, slipping inside. He started running towards the far door. Pulling it open, he heard an alarm pierce the night, but he ignored it. Running flat out down the long hallway, he saw his goal at the end: a large window, and maybe freedom. In his past walks down this hallway, he'd noticed the window, but hadn't seen any obvious grating or barrier. If he hit it going fast enough, he might make it through the glass. He stumbled and fell to his knees, then hauled himself up again. He started walking, then running.

Just ten paces more. Nine. Eight. Seven. He was just about to launch himself at the window when he heard a commotion behind him. There were shouts, and the light went bright around him.

Malcolm found himself on his back, staring up at the ceiling.

His last thoughts as he faded into unconsciousness were, "Force field. Of course."

x-x

Malcolm awoke back in the quiet room. He was alone, but he'd been secured to his bed. Unable to really move, he shook his head slightly. He'd been so close.

He shook his head again, rephrasing. He'd not been close. He'd been stupid. What the hell was he thinking?

He heard the click of the door lock, and one of the orderlies came in. They must be monitoring him, so they knew that he'd awoken. The man began checking his vitals. "You're lucky, you know," he said, taking Malcolm's pulse.

Malcolm watched him work.

The orderly went on despite Malcolm's lack of response. "Most people, if caught trying to escape, get an extra ten years added to their sentence." The man patted Malcolm on the arm, his expression almost sympathetic. "But you're in the psych ward. They tend to be more forgiving of the nutters."

Two prison guards entered the room, and the orderly glanced over his shoulder to them. "He's stable," he said, before turning back to Malcolm. Injecting something into his arm, the orderly said, "Just to keep you calm." He started undoing Malcolm's restraints. "Still, you'll have to go before the board today."

"Why?" Malcolm asked, surprised at how rough his voice still sounded.

The orderly looked surprised - probably because that was the first time Malcolm had spoken in his presence. "You tried to escape," he said. He resumed his activities. "You've also been actively unsafe, and we can't seem to get you out of that cycle. They may decide to transfer you someplace they feel better fits your needs. The prison system has hospitals where...

Transfer?

Malcolm tuned out the rest.

x-x

_Please review and let me know what you think so far. Thank you!_


	10. Chapter 10

_Thank you again for all your comments and reviews. This story is getting close to its end. I'm almost sad to see it go!_

x-x

Malcolm was on a ship, flying to who knows where for his meeting with doctors from the mental health division of the prison board. Staring down at his shackled wrists, he tried to ignore the guards sitting to both sides of him on the bench. He felt - nothing, he felt nothing. They'd dosed him with something just before he'd entered the transport, but so far, all he felt was numb. With his fingers, he fiddled with the healing skin on his injured hand, pressing a nail against it until blood began to well.

His doctor had told him that such a lack of feeling wasn't due to the medications. She said he was doing things like this - cutting himself, like now, or smashing his hand into the wall - to counteract the feelings of numbness and depersonalisation. That it was part of his illness. He wasn't sure that he believed her but of course, since he wasn't talking, he couldn't exactly argue the point. So he sat in silence as her words flowed over him, trying not to listen, trying not to believe. Because if he believed her, that meant that she was right. And if she was right, then he really was mad.

Speaking of madness...He had to go before this board and...he wasn't sure what. If he acted too crazy, they'd probably transfer him. But if he didn't act crazy enough, they could recommend that additional years be put on his sentence.

He scraped a nail across the old injury, watching it bleed. Groggy, lethargic, and stupid, stupid, stupid, that was how he felt. He thought he'd had a plan to save Trip, but he'd only ended up making the situation worse. From what he could tell, it was quite possible that this board wouldn't send him back to the same prison as Trip. They could very well be split up.

The quality of the light in the transport changed, and Malcolm glanced out the window at the front of the ship. They'd broken the cloud barrier, and the sky before them was a brilliant blue.

The sky looked exactly like that of Earth and a hundred other planets they'd visited. Malcolm snorted.

Again he looked down at his hands. It probably didn't matter how he "planned" to act in front of this board. He could barely control himself. Maybe the doctor was right.

The ship went slightly hazy around him, and he closed his eyes slowly. He had to admit, he'd been given some very good drugs. He could feel them now. He heard himself laugh. He should tell Phlox. These most recent ones beat anything that Phlox held in his arsenal. He was starting to feel...slow and sleazy. Sleazy? He wasn't sure that was the right word, but he smiled, letting the feeling flow through him. His head fell forward and he let it stay there, swaying with the movement of the transport.

He heard one guard say something, and he felt a shove against his shoulder, but he couldn't be arsed to react. He'd been thinking of...someone. Wasn't there someone, back at the prison? He...couldn't remember. God, he was...he felt...bloody hell...

Something jarred the ship, sending his head slamming back into the wall behind him. It didn't hurt, or maybe it did, but he didn't care and he couldn't have reacted anyway. He tried to open his eyes, but his eyelids were too heavy, so he stopped trying.

There was a flurry of activity around him. He heard shouts. The ship jerked again and his head slammed back. He felt himself sliding down in the seat, but he couldn't stop and he slid to a heap on the floor.

He couldn't move. It was as if he was buried alive, six feet of solid earth above him, pressing him down. He felt himself sinking further, further down. Six feet, seven, eight.

Darkness surrounded him. He heard far-away voices, some of which almost seemed familiar. There was a gentle hand against his neck, but he was slipping downwards, and he couldn't...

x-x

Malcolm woke to a strangely familiar alien face above him. The person was saying something, and Malcolm almost recognised the voice, but he was unable to understand what the being was saying. Then meaning came clear in a rush. "...Barely able to bring you out of that, Lieutenant. Whatever drugs they gave you..."

Malcolm tried to nod, but the room swirled around him and he lost track of the conversation. He could hear the darkness calling, and it would be so easy to just let go, to fall into it. He was so tired.

He felt hands on him and realised that he'd been struggling.

"Just lie still," the alien said. "Someone wants to speak with you."

Another person came into view above him, this one a green eyed human. "How are you feeling?"

Malcolm closed his eyes. He felt someone rubbing his arm, gently but briskly.

"Malcolm? Come on, stay with me," the human said. "I need to know where Trip is."

Suddenly Malcolm remembered: Trip, the prison, being captured, everything unreeling in high-speed against his eyelids. "Captain?" he croaked into the darkness, the images spinning in his head. He struggled against them. He needed to hold on for just one more minute.

"Where's Trip?" came Archer's answering question.

"Jesem."

"Where?"

"Prison," he whispered. "Jesem Prison." He followed the swirling images and let the darkness take him.

x-x

Malcolm came awake slowly, letting the soft sounds of sickbay soothe him. He knew that he'd woken often since Enterprise had found him, but this time he felt different, clearer. Still, he kept his eyes closed, trying to get a sense of the space around him.

He heard clicks from a padd nearby, and he opened his eyes to see Hoshi sitting in the chair beside his bed, her head bent as the device cast its glow over her face. After a moment, she looked up, then smiled cautiously at him. "Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you."

Malcolm opened his mouth to speak and ended up coughing.

Hoshi, alarmed, stood and got him some water. She held the cup for him while he took a measured sip from the straw.

"Find Trip yet?" he finally managed.

Hoshi's face creased into a genuine smile now, and she seemed visibly relieved. Malcolm could remember some bits of the last few days. Not much, but what he remembered was unpleasant. Her relief at his lucidity was understandable.

"That's why I'm here," Hoshi said, putting the cup on his bedside table. "I'd been hoping that you'd wake up so I could tell you the good news." She paused a moment. "We found him."

"Where is he?"

"They're bringing him up now. He should be here within the hour."

Malcolm nodded, his heart hammering in his chest. He should be happy, or at least relieved, but all he felt was anxious. Shouldn't he be happy?

He decided not to ask the obvious question: how Trip was. He wasn't sure that he wanted to know that just yet. He wasn't sure that he wanted to know what he'd left Trip to. His mind spun as he went over and over the possibilities. Hemsej, especially after the beating Malcolm had given him, what he may have done to Trip in retaliation. No, wait, that hadn't been Hemsej. The man he'd beaten had been...someone else. Hadn't it? Malcolm shook his head, confused, and Hoshi looked at him strangely, obviously puzzled by his reaction.

"Are you okay?"

Malcolm decided to leave all that for now, instead asking, "How long were we down there?"

Hoshi hesitated before she answered. "Well over a month, Malcolm."

Malcolm's shock must have shown on his face, because Hoshi looked even more worried. She placed a hand on his arm.

"How did you find me?"

Hoshi looked a bit relieved that Malcolm seemed to be keeping up with the conversation. "When you guys weren't at the rendezvous, we started a search. The team was eventually able to find your communicator - once they were planetside, they were able to get a limited trace on it. Later they heard of a group of people who'd been rounded up days before, so they started asking questions."

Malcolm watched Hoshi's face as she spoke, her eyes sparkling as she told the story. He watched her, tracing the movement of her hand as it rose to push a lock of dark hair away from her face, and he lost track of what she was saying. He heard the rise and fall of her tone as she spoke, indistinguishable phrases coming in waves.

"...no progress until a few days ago..."

Malcolm blinked in surprise when her words came through. "...when T'Pol was doing yet another scan of the atmosphere and actually got a ping." Hoshi smiled again. "When you were taken in that transport, they brought you up high enough that atmo was less of an interference. We were able to find your biosigns."

He closed his eyes. "You waited," he said, relief coursing through him.

"Of course we waited," Hoshi said, her tone of voice implying that he was an idiot for even thinking that they wouldn't. She rubbed his arm gently and said something about Travis, fancy flying, and the transport again, but by that time, Malcolm was gone.

x-x


	11. Chapter 11

_This is the end. I'm actually kind of sad that I'm leaving this one. Thank you again reading. _

x-x

Malcolm pushed up from the bed, cautious of his damaged hand and his unsteadiness. Careful not to trip over anything in the dim light and dragging his IV pole with him, he hobbled over to the curtain where he knew Trip had been brought the night before.

This entire day had been a buzz of activity, with doctors, nurses and techs flowing in and out of the area behind the curtain. He had heard Trip's voice a few times, but Malcolm had focused his attention elsewhere, giving the man some privacy while he was being evaluated.

Actually, that was a lie. He'd been avoiding the situation: avoiding Trip, avoiding facing up to what had happened down there.

At least with all of Enterprise's attention on Trip, there was less focus on him. Because if one more person stood beside his bed, looking down on him with that mixture of sympathy and fear in their eyes...

Malcolm took a careful, measured breath. He relaxed the hand he'd wrapped around his IV pole.

It was sick, it made him a bad person, and he was definitely going to go to hell for this, but he was grateful that all of today's attention had been on Trip, even if that meant Trip was in bad shape. Malcolm had found that a welcome respite not just from concerned visitors, but also from the questions he'd been receiving from Phlox and Archer about his time down there, most specifically the way he'd gotten himself into the asylum.

He'd had to tell them what he'd done. He hadn't wanted to – he'd even thought that he might be able to dance around the topic, but Phlox's scans had shown something, and it was enough for the doctor to put two and two together and figure out what had happened. When Phlox had asked about the injuries to his neck, to his hand, Malcolm had looked into Phlox's eyes realised that the doctor already knew the answers.

He'd seen the obvious concern in Archer's eyes, and the frank doubt in Phlox's when Malcolm had said he'd just done it to get into the asylum. He'd had to clench his hands on the edge of the bed in order to physically keep himself from running when Phlox had said the drugs, which were still present in his system, had certainly influenced his actions, but that there may be more, something other than the drugs. Phlox had then insisted that he go into counselling with someone from StarFleet Medical. When Malcolm had tried to argue, the doctor had said that it was not a subject of debate, and that the sessions would begin as soon as Phlox could contact the appropriate doctors and set them up. He still felt the jolt that had hit him when he'd turned to the captain and saw Archer's shock at Phlox's ideas, then his quick agreement.

Malcolm would be off duty for the foreseeable future, at least until those doctors were convinced that he was all right. He felt a partial smile creep over his face. They had a hell of a job ahead of them.

Now he stood staring at the curtain surrounding Trip's bed, unsure if his friend would be awake at this hour of the night, and half hoping that he wouldn't be.

Shoring up his courage, Malcolm pulled aside the curtain. There was Trip in all his glory, sitting in his bed and reading by the light of a small lamp.

Malcolm stood there for a moment. There had obviously been some additional beatings after Malcolm had left - he could see bruising along Trip's hairline, and the puckered skin where Phlox had performed some of his magic. Trip's left arm was wrapped - probably broken. Malcolm continued logging Trip's injuries, feeling each one like a punch to the gut.

Trip finally caught his eye and grinned. He waved to the chair beside his bed. "Should you be up? Phlox told me you'd been drugged, and..."

Malcolm interrupted with a shrug and hobbled to the chair. He sank into it gratefully. Not looking at Trip, he asked, "How did they get you out?"

Trip's voice lost its joviality and took on a more watchful tone. "T'Pol and Hoshi worked to forge some release orders. Martinez was at the door when I walked out of there." Malcolm looked up, and Trip smiled cautiously. "I basically strolled out of there, onto the shuttlepod and then home." He shrugged. "It was almost anticlimactic."

Malcolm tried to give a false grin in response to Trip's attempt at a joke, but he let it fall away when he realised that it was probably more of a grimace. "You all right?"

"Pretty much," Trip replied. "Nothing that won't heal. Phlox even said that he might release me in a couple days." Malcolm was about to speak until Trip shook his head as if saying, leave it for later. "How about you?" Trip added, his tone light but his eyes serious.

Malcolm shrugged. He realised that his bandaged hand was at his neck, covering the area where his bruises had been, and he pulled it away. They'd faded to invisibility, but Malcolm felt like they were glowing, a mark of his shame.

Trip dropped all pretence at cheerfulness. "What happened in the cell that night?" he asked, the gentleness of his tone helping to ease the bluntness of the question.

Malcolm hesitated. He wasn't exactly sure how to explain it. He finally said, "I needed to find a way to get into the asylum."

Trip paused as if taking that in. "But why that way?"

Malcolm was about to say something glib to deflect the question, but Trip stopped him. "I mean, how could you?" Trip asked.

Malcolm looked down at his bandaged hand, now resting in his lap. "It was easy," he said, realising that it was true only as he uttered the words. He heard Trip give a soft intake of breath. Malcolm could feel Trip's eyes on him, but kept his head down. He lifted his hands and placed them on the edge of Trip's mattress, and his fingers started worrying the sheet.

It had been so easy to let himself slip. And once he'd started, he'd gone quickly. Completely. He smiled to himself. He'd never done things by half-measures.

"And after that?" Trip asked, his tone guarded.

Malcolm thought about how to answer. After a moment, he looked up at Trip. "Darkness."

Trip stared at him for a while. Finally he said, "Pretty drastic."

"Yes," Malcolm said flatly. He broke eye contact.

One word, "Yes," but there was so much meaning behind it.

At the time, he'd felt like he'd had no other options. He'd had to do what he'd done because it was the only way he had to make sure that Trip was safe.

Malcolm looked back up at Trip, and Trip reached out, eyes blazing. It was almost as if Trip understood. And maybe he did.

"Do not do that again," Trip said, covering Malcolm's hand where it shifted on the mattress, stilling Malcolm's restless fingers.

Malcolm looked away. He wanted to say that he wouldn't. He wanted to mean it, too. But he couldn't lie, and he couldn't promise. How could he? "Trip..." he finally said, his voice trailing off.

Trip took his hand away as if he'd been burnt, and Malcolm looked up, meeting his eyes. His friend looked...he looked hurt, and angry, and guilty. Malcolm was confused for a moment until the realisation hit him in a wave. Trip probably felt as if all of this was his fault.

It was true that, back in the prison, he'd felt he had to do what he'd done in order to get Trip out of there, but he'd chosen to take the actions he had. He'd made the choice, and this - none of this - was Trip's fault.

Choice. Phlox had tried to talk to him about choice, but he'd turned away.

Malcolm looked down at his bandaged hand. Part of the dressing was unravelling, and he started pulling at the loose threads.

Perhaps there was something else. Maybe there was a darkness within him that allowed him to see taking his own life as a reasonable solution. Even if the drugs had influenced him, even if he hadn't actually intended to die, even if the plot was engineered and he hoped to fail, there had to be a darkness in him that drove him to actually place the noose around his neck and step off that bed. Perhaps if their roles had been reversed, Trip, who didn't have that darkness, would have found another way. Malcolm smiled warily. Maybe Phlox's counselling idea wasn't such a bad one.

"I'll try." Malcolm focused on the words he'd said. They seemed entirely inadequate, but they were the best he could do.

At least it was a promise he could live with.

x-x

_Please review and let me know what you thought of this story. Thank you so much!_


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